Read it through once

You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate: the elements Of whom your swords are temper’d may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, And will not be uplifted. But, remember— For that’s my business to you,—that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Expos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft; and do pronounce, by me Ling’ring perdition,—worse than any death Can be at once,—shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from— Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Upon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow, And a clear life ensuing.